


Can't drown my demons

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And other fucked up elements e.g., Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Castration, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Past Rape/Non-con, Punching, Torture, What If Theon Lost The Fight AU, additional tags for all the things Euron does to Theon namely:, flaying, internalized ramsay, mentions of all the things Ramsay did to Theon up to and including:, monologue of an internalized abuser, spitting, very bad coping strategies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 11:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13635012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: What if Theon lost that fight with Harrag at the end of Season 7?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NuclearGers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearGers/gifts).



> The fight on the beach between Theon and Harrag was one of my favourite parts of season 7 and it almost broke my heart to write an AU undoing it. But I fancied some squidlet!whump and a brief message to NuclearGers reassured me that I was not the only one :p Enjoy!

Theon can’t get up.

His mouth is full of blood, sand and salt; tangy and gritty against his teeth. His left cheek is cut to ribbons inside. He can feel every injury in his body, every old wound unraveling the way he's seen in men who’ve been at sea too long with no fresh food. Old cuts are bleeding, old sores are throbbing, the feel of Harrag’s boot is stone and iron against his ribs.

He _can’t get up_.

Around him he can hear the murmur of voices even if he can’t make out the actual words. The sound of the men surrounding him, of gulls in the distance, of the crashing waves. Ironborn, they call each other, as if they don’t know what salt water does to iron. Deep inside his mind Theon thinks he can even hear the castle walls of Dragonstone, a great stone thudding that is ancient and unforgiving. Those walls have seen a hundred young men lying bloodied on the beach and now Theon is just one more. He hears Harrag screaming at him to stay down, or maybe it’s Ramsay screaming in his head.

No. Ramsay never screamed at him. Ramsay never needed to.

For the first time in years, the first time since the pain between his legs started and never really died away, Theon wants to fight. He wants to fight back until he’s a bloodied smear on the beach if necessary, but his body won’t move. His legs kick feebly against the sand and Harrag’s screams turn into jeers and laughs. Harrag won’t help him save Yara, now he’s lost the fight none of them will help him. Theon lies on the beach with the blood and the sand in his mouth and decides that he will have to rescue Yara alone. 

Harrag picks him up by the back of the collar and drags him along the sand. Theon hits the bottom of the rowboat in a crumpled heap. His legs are still refusing to move and Theon wonders in a strange dispassionate and disconnected way whether he’s broken them. But broken legs hurt more than this, he _knows_ that.

“Look at you now.” Harrag spits. “Prince of the Ironborn, are you? Just look at yourself.”

The words bubble out of Theon in blood and spit, “I’ve looked worse.”

Harrag’s boot crashes down on his face and the world goes briefly dark. When his eyes and brain have refocused he’s in the hold of the _Headless Man_ , dropped in the corner like a bag of grain. Theon finds his legs can move again, except now there’s nowhere to move to so he tucks them under him and sits in the brig, taking some time to calm himself and push down the little panicked staccato voice in his head. He’s still alive. There was a time when that was bad news, but now it’s most definitely good news. He’s alive, he can rescue Yara. He has a purpose, and he’s no longer afraid of the pain he’ll need to get through to achieve it.

Ramsay has made him unafraid. Or at least Ramsay has made him unafraid of anything other than Ramsay.

Harrag’s boots bang loud and hollow against the wooden stairs as he makes his way down. Theon watches, mute, as Harrag stands in front of him. He knows what’s going to happen, he can see it in Harrag’s face. It's the face Ben Bones had the night of the sharp frost and dark wine, the face of Damon Dance-with-me when Ramsay gave the order, the face he’d worn himself more than once, a world ago.

Harrag undoes his belt buckle and steps forward then stops, uncertain. Theon is pretty sure he’s used to facing a little more resistance than this and the lack of a fight is confusing him. Instead he just has Theon’s eyes, staring straight at him.

“I’ve never fucked a Prince before.” Harrag says, and maybe he means it to come out snarling but his voice wavers a little.

Theon stares back at him unblinking, “I have.”

Harrag’s jaw clenches and he raises a fist. Theon knows, instantly, that if the fist falls Harrag will fuck him. If Harrag can hit Theon he can hurt him, but despite half breaking him on the beach somehow Harrag now seems unable to touch him.

The fist doesn’t swing, and Theon thinks he’s probably too low for it to sensibly reach. He stays sat on the wooden floor of the boat, staring up at Harrag. Slowly, he opens up his mouth, leaving it there, leaving it open. His teeth are crooked, the back ones broken and it’s an unspoken truth that if Harrag puts anything in his mouth Theon will bite, even if it kills him.

It’s probably the most effective threat he’s ever made.

Harrag’s fist doesn’t move but he kicks instead, kicks out until Theon is sprawled in the bottom of the boat, bleeding again, face against the wood. He hears rather than sees as Harrag’s boots stomp their way back up the ladder leaving him alone in the darkness, gently rocked by the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

When the Ironborn choose a new King, they take him down to the water. They hold him under. They let him drown. Theon remembers hearing, long ago, that among other things it was a good way for the Ironborn lords to remove themselves of a King they didn’t want. A few seconds extra to slip the line between life and death, and maybe a reminder to the King that the men he'll rule once held that power. The Drowned God demands that to lead the Ironborn, a man first has to know what it feels like to die.

Harrag has never died and therefore he is no leader. His position is precarious and maybe that’s why Theon is left undisturbed and uncared for locked in below decks. On the second day, gasping and desperate, he opens up one of the barrels stashed down with him and drinks his fill of water.

On the fifth day, boots come down again to join him. Harrag doesn't speak to him, just drags him unclean and unshaven onto the deck. There’s a deathly silence as he’s hauled up into the sunlight. Theon is ready for jeers, or even some laughter, but instead the crew just look nervous and sullen.

The ship is moored in a small cove and as his eyes adjust to the streaming sunlight Theon can see _The Silence_ moored up next to her. Theon feels his stomach churn and suddenly he knows why Harrag has brought them here. He wants to rejoin Euron, to trade Theon in for his allegiance. In the corner of his mind, Theon can see Ramsay’s mouth twist up.  _Your uncle will kill him,_ Ramsay sneers.

“I know.” Theon answers out loud, and the men around him look even more spooked. He’s hustled quickly off the boat and onto the shore where Euron is waiting.

Euron gives a delighted smile to see him and Theon stares back blankly. Euron shouldn’t be here, he should be back on Pyke. Wherever this island is it isn’t Pyke, it’s sandy and flat and lies blissfully under the sun. Euron lied, and Theon feels a sudden horrible misgiving about the fate of everyone left on Westeros.

Euron raises his arms up in greeting, “Theon! I knew you would come round eventually! You’ve finally come to join me?”

Theon stares at him, heart pounding. It’s strange but he’s not afraid of Euron. Ramsay, yes, but not Euron. It wasn’t fear of Euron that had him jumping off the prow of _Silence_ when Yara was captured, it was fear of Ramsay. “Where’s Yara?”

“Your sister is dead.”

For a heartbeat Theon believes him and he almost crumples. Then he sees past Euron’s grin, “She’s not.”

“She’s not.” Euron admits, “But she isn’t here. She’s locked in a dungeon in King’s Landing so that Cersei trusts me to come back.”

“What if you don’t come back?” Theon asks because really, he’s not at all interested in what Euron is doing. Yara’s alive, that’s what matters, and if she’s alive and away from Euron so much the better.

Euron gives a shrug in reply. “Maybe Cersei will kill her. Or fuck her. Or both. I don’t care.” He takes a step forward and his hand curls around the back of Theon’s neck, but when he next speaks it’s not to Theon but Harrag, “And what do you want?”

“Payment.” Harrag says bluntly, and Theon can hear his heartbeat growing loud inside his chest. It’ll happen, he knows, it’ll happen soon because Euron’s men are standing around holding weapons and Harrag has nothing, nothing at all. It’s going to happen, and he’ll have to watch, and –

 _Watch_. Snaps the Ramsay in his mind, _Watch and don’t you even_ think _of looking away. You will watch, you will watch as he kills them all and you won’t flinch, or cry, or look aside._

A few minutes later Euron’s knife is in Harrag’s belly. Theon watches as he crumples to the sand, his eyes fixed on the man as he squeals and twitches. The rest of the crew fall just as quick, Euron doesn’t need men he can’t trust, men who pledged their loyalty to Yara and then betrayed her as well.

Harrag is still alive when Euron hands the knife to Theon, “Go on, kill him. Kill him for what he did to you.”

The knife is warm from Euron’s hand, and Theon curls his remaining fingers around it, “He didn’t do anything to me.”

Euron’s hand wraps over his own and Euron’s body is pressed far too tight against his. Theon watches as Euron raises the knife with Theon’s hand trapped against it, and then it flashes down and Harrag’s begging whimpers turn into a final gurgle as his blood arcs up onto the sand.

There’s silence for a while and then Euron starts to laugh. Some of the others do as well, picking up the dead bodies and piling them into a heap near the bay. Theon stays where he is, staggering forwards as Euron claps him on the back.

“Well done, little Theon! I mean you didn’t kill him, or fight him, or fight me, but you didn’t jump into the water this time. That’s good! That’s better.”

 _You disobeyed him_. Ramsay sneers in Theon’s mind. _He’s not even punishing you. He’s weak._

“Reek.” Theon murmurs back under his breath.

 _Reek,_ Ramsay agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize sincerely for basically cutting Yara out of this. I loved Yara in GoT, but I wanted to see her making sweet, sweet pirate love to a Dragon Empress, not being beaten up by her Uncle. So I discretely moved her into a cell so I could concentrate on getting Theon beaten up by his Uncle instead.


	3. Chapter 3

The _Silence_ is moored on a small island, a little spit of land that’s almost entirely beach, so nobody bothers to watch Theon at all as they empty everything worthwhile from the _Headless Man_ and prepare the _Silence_ for the next leg of their journey. He’s given a razor, with the understanding that he can either shave himself or end himself with it, and a chance to change out of his soiled and grubby clothes.

“I was almost starting to smell right again.” He tells the man who gives him the clothes, getting only a nervous glare in response. Nobody seems sure what Theon is anymore; if he’s a prisoner or a hostage; a royal nephew or condemned traitor. As a result he’s largely ignored. Euron comes to find him when the _Silence_ is ready to sail, patting him on the shoulder and then ruffling his hair. “Do you hate me, hmm?”

“Yes.” Theon answers, because it’s true.

“Will you try to kill me?”

“Yes.”

The response makes Euron laugh which makes Theon rather wish he’d lied. “How can you kill me?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You’re really not afraid of me?” There’s a flash of steel behind the words, but Theon isn’t about to start lying now.

“No.”

Euron’s hand tightens on his shoulder until Theon can feel the bruises starting to throb under Euron’s fingers. “Maybe you should be afraid of me.”

“Maybe.” Theon answers and then, because it seems an important point, “But I’m not.”

He’s not sure whether he’s saying it to convince Euron, or Ramsay. It’s a stupid thing to say; Euron is a dangerous man, Theon can see that, and he’s honestly not sure why Euron hasn’t killed him yet. He has a feeling that Euron wants him to be afraid, and that alone is enough to curdle any fear inside him into sourness. Euron’s fingers leave his shoulder and Theon almost smiles as he gets a cuff around the back of the head.

“We could leave you here, nephew. Leave you on this island with nothing but a knife for company. Would you like that?”

Theon looks around at the sandy beach. There are a few seabirds circling overhead, fish in the warm water, fruit on the few scraggy trees. It’s quiet and peaceful and nobody on it is trying to kill him. To live the rest of his life out here alone seems like heaven, but he knows it’s not his fate. His wistful longing must show in his face though because Euron gives him a little push in the direction of the _Silence_.

“Get on board. I’m not having you jumping on the next ship that comes by and trying to rescue that bitch sister of yours. We need to talk.”

* * *

He’s put into Euron’s quarters on the _Silence_ , by men who still don’t know what to do with him, and left alone. For at least an hour Theon can do no more than sit on the bunk, controlling his trembling limbs and trying to form a coherent plan of action. He finally manages to make himself move, standing on shivering legs and looking around the cabin. He doesn’t touch a thing, but he gets an approximate understanding of where the heavy things are, and the sharp things.

He’s back sitting on the bunk when Euron arrives. Theon’s eyes follow his uncle as Euron moves around the cabin, tugging off his jacket and pulling out an amphora of wine, while his jacket is thrown carelessly over a bench. “So,” Euron says eventually. “Theon Greyjoy. Balon Greyjoy’s last living son and heir. My disobedient nephew. Here you are.”

It’s not a question, so Theon doesn’t answer it. Euron gestures with his tankard in the direction of Theon’s lap. “Some bastard Greenlander from the North cut your cock off? Show me. I want to see it.”

“Lord Ramsay Bolton took it.” Theon responds, his eyes not leaving Euron’s, “He put it in a box and sent it to my father, so I don’t think you can see it.”

He’s expecting another cuff but instead Euron laughs and the Ramsay in Theon’s head gives a disappointed snort, “I don’t want to see your cock, Theon, I doubt it was interesting when it was attached and it’s even less so now. I want to see what he did. Take them off. Show me.”

Theon stands. He doesn’t want to shake or quiver in front of his uncle and the only way he can do that is with Ramsay’s voice in his head ordering him not to show a lick of fear. He undoes his trousers and lets them fall, then reaches down and peels of his shirt as well, kicking his clothes away until he’s standing naked in front of Euron. _Show him_ , Ramsay snarls, _Show him what he’s up against, show him the kind of cruelty he’s only ever dreamed of. Show him what my Reek can take._

Euron steps forward and Theon is ready for the hand as it cups down below, over the scarred and mutilated flesh. Euron grabs him as he would a girl, fingers poking up to feel, face twisting in disgust. “He didn’t cut you a cunt while he was down there?”

“No.” Theon answers quietly, not letting his eyes move from Euron’s face. It makes it easier looking at Euron while it happens, because despite everything it’s a tremendous relief that he’s not looking at Ramsay.

“But he fucked you up the bum, didn’t he?”

Theon nods, not trusting himself to speak. The true answer of course is that Ramsay never _fucked_ him, because what Ramsay did could never be described in such bland and easy terms. Wenches are fucked, wives are fucked, boy-whores are fucked, what Ramsay did to Reek was damage him utterly in a way that happened to involve his arse. _He doesn’t know_! Crows his inner Ramsay triumphantly, _He thinks I only beat you and raped you. He has no idea._

 “He made you a whore?” Euron is still cupping between his legs but his other hand is now exploring the rest of Theon, the scars along his chest where his skin was flayed off, the cross-shaped weal on his shoulder, the sliced scar where his nipple once was. Theon is an illustrated history of the Bolton family torture techniques. “Did he have other men use you?”

“I – not a whore.” There were other men, but only under Ramsay’s say-so, and Theon can’t think of a way to explain the single-minded possessiveness that was Ramsay Bolton. “I was his – R – his Reek.

Euron’s face twists, “What? What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know.” Theon responds, with Ramsay's words and Ramsay's arrogance and then finally he’s struck. Maybe it’s the insolence, or maybe Euron is just bored, but the back of his hand snaps hard and fast across Theon’s face and sends him tumbling down onto the bunk.

“Do you know what we do on this boat to creatures without a cock?” Euron spits down at him.

“Wait for them to kill you.” Theon murmurs in answer, because he’s starting to work out now that every unexpected answer he gives is dragging out his life longer. Euron might not always like it, but Theon has a feeling in his gut that if he rolls over and gives up Euron will throw him overboard. Sure enough Euron lets his raised hand fall and looks at Theon in baffled confusion.

“You’re going to kill every man on this boat?”

“Daenerys Targaryen’s Unsullied will kill every man on this boat.” Theon clarifies.

Euron hesitates then reaches down and picks up Theon’s shirt, throwing it at him before turning back to the amphora of wine. “Get that on, you look uglier than your father did. Don’t bother putting anything else on. You know I’m going to fuck you.”

Theon tugs the shirt over his head. “Yes. I know.”

“You know I fucked your father? When he was younger than you?”

Theon lets his eyes drop down to the bunk. He hadn’t known, and now he suddenly doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to think of his father, and all of the history that entails. “Where are we sailing to?”

“Essos.” The bunk creaks as Euron sits next to him, handing him a glass of dark oily red wine. “To find the Golden Company. Your dragon bitch isn’t the only one who can raise an army.”

Theon takes a sip of the wine, and then a gulp of it because he’s reaching the limit of what he can cope with sober. In his mind, Ramsay leans back indulgently, waving a hand at him, _I want you drunk when he fucks you Reek, I want you drunk and sloppy. Disappoint him._ “You’ve seen the dead we’re fighting. You know every man you kill will turn into that. And your plan for dealing with this is to bring over mercenaries? They’ll eat all the food that’s stored, add hundreds to the dead army, and cost all the money you have. It’s a stupid idea.”

Theon was never good at strategic thinking, looking back he feels he can admit that now. But in the last year he’s been listening and watching as Tyrion and the Queen discuss the invasion. He’s learnt from his sister, from Varys, from all of them, certainly enough to know a good plan from bad. This is a bad plan.

Euron shrugs, “You think I give a damn about some dead army ravaging the North? Let them. Let them kill everyone. I’ll put my Queen on my boat and come back when the long winter is over to rule anyone left alive.”

Theon can’t argue with that.


	4. Chapter 4

Theon is allowed onto the deck after a few days, and while part of him enjoys watching the waves and feeling the sun he never stays up for long. The men on the ship are silent and surly, and there’s something terrifying about the guttural noises they make to each other in lieu of speech. He scuttles back down to Euron’s bunk instead, which is comfortable and quiet even if it has the disadvantage of often containing Euron.

Euron is cruel, but he’s no Ramsay Bolton. He’s fascinated by Theon’s skin and the scars and marks his previous life have left, so Theon is allowed to wear nothing more than a long shirt, belted around the waist with a black leather belt of Euron’s with a twisted iron kraken belt. Theon rather likes it, and he’s allowed to keep it clean at least. After Reek’s cold and fetid clothing it’s practically a luxury. _If you were mine_ , he imagines Ramsay saying _I’d beat you with that belt_ , but Euron never beats him. There are certainly the cuffs and knocks of an impatient man not used to being crossed, and the sharp bright pain that comes each time Euron tries to get information from him, but none of its senseless the way Ramsay’s pain was. Each time it’s for a purpose, predictable and clear. He’s afraid of it still, but it’s a dull empty fear rather than the twisting mindbending terror he experienced as Reek.

“Tell me about the North.” Is the first question Euron asks, pulling Theon onto his lap and stroking his hair, knocking a fist lightly under his chin as Theon tries to move his head away. “Come on my little – what was it – Reek?”

“That isn’t my name.”

“It’s a stupid name anyway. Tell me about the North.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’ll be colder by the time we attack it. Tell me where the castles are, the grain stores, the garrisons. Didn’t the Greenlander Bastard teach you how to be obedient?”

“Lord Ramsay Bolton.” Theon answers sullenly, then bites his tongue as Euron’s fist lands and twists sharply into his belly.

“Are we going to do this every evening until we reach Essos, little Theon? Every evening there, and every evening back, until we finally get to King’s Landing? You’ll talk then, when I take your sister’s eyes out you’ll talk.”

“If I don’t talk now, you’ll let me see my sister?” Theon answers, and Euron gives a growl of rage and tumbles him onto the floor. Theon grips the wood as Euron punishes with his cock, letting his mind go blank and empty, almost amazed that Euron either doesn’t realise or doesn’t care that Theon can lock his mind somewhere else while the pain happens. Particularly this pain, ripping into his body in a throbbing ache of a thousand painful memories that at the worst of times almost have him regressing right back to stuttering terror.

_I never let you do that_. Ramsay grumbles. _I never let you hide from it._ _He doesn’t even want you, Reek._

“Theon.” Theon whispers back, “I’m Theon. Theon Greyjoy.”

“Son of Balon Greyjoy.” Euron grunts from above him, grabbing his hair and wrenching it back, “And don’t you fucking forget it.”

For a brief sudden moment, Theon almost loves him.

By the time they reach Essos, Theon has almost become accustomed to it, slipping into his new life with a dull ease. It feels natural to belong to someone; Balon’s son, Ned Stark’s ward, Ramsay’s Reek, Yara’s protector, and now Euron’s whore. Of all the things he’s failed at being, this is the one that he feels most content in his own mind about. Not that it’s pleasant, or even desirable, but for the first time Theon doesn’t feel like he’s fighting a battle in his own head. There’s no nagging doubt, or guilt, or even Reek. Only Ramsay, there whenever Theon needs him, until Theon does what needs to be done. The enemy is outside now, the enemy is Euron, and eventually Theon will kill him. Until then, he explores the words he can say, learns how each of them can affect Euron’s mood; frustrating him and baffling him by turn.

When the _Silence_ docks at Pentos Theon’s gained a few more scars, and Euron’s gained no information whatsoever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote almost all of this at the airport in an exhausted haze of frenzied jet-lagged confusion so ... yeah. Not sure what I feel yet about the internalized-Ramsay Theon and not 100% convinced it stands up with canon, but we'll see! It was good to write it.
> 
> I was considering writing a bit more of this with Theon actually meeting the Golden Company ... but I've no idea what they look like or anything and it seemed a bit leap to go from self-indulgent h/c to serious world-building. I considered ending this with Theon killing Euron and stealing a small boat to go back for Yara but major character death seems far too heavy for this little pavlova of a fic to actually support. So instead I just tied the ends loosely together and left it. Enjoy it for what it is: squidlet whump with the best Euron I've written so far and some tasty Ramsay in the background :) 
> 
> It's for NuclearGers, for all the phenomenal art that I love and that sets off little plot-bunnies inside me.


End file.
